Love, Your Pocket Sized Friends
by Puffy Marshmallow
Summary: Remus has always known his friends were unique, but to provide an all-out confrontation to tell Remus that he resembled a creature that they might name something cute like "Snuggleface?" Second year. The confrontation about Remus' lycanthropy.


A/N: Hello, friends. Friendly friends that say friendly things and are generally just very friendly. Friend is one of those words that if you say over and over again, it just starts to sound weird. Really. Try it.

Disclaimer: Anything related to the _Harry Potter_ series belongs to el Mrs. J.K. Fabulous Rowling.

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**_Love, Your Pocket-Sized Friends_**

Sirius Black knows that Remus Lupin is a werewolf. James Potter told him so.

Something about the revelation is expected, and now the problem lies in actually telling him that his three housemates know about his snarling, growling, and rather nasty, arm-consuming, leg-digesting, organ-eating counterpart.

Sirius could easily say that James is ever-so-slightly loony and that he is a bit psychotic, but that excuse gets old after awhile, and quite frankly, the idea of Remus being a wolf quite fits. Wolves are furry, and there is just something oddly furry about Remus, but he's not scratchy enough to be a kitten or playful enough to be a puppy or bouncy enough to be a rabbit, so a wise, old, and semi-ferocious wolf fits. After all, he is rather violent about his books.

James, Peter and Sirius are not quite sure what to say to him, but since he is sitting on his four-poster, eyes darting between the three, the obligation to say something exerts its pressure, because Sirius can practically hear Remus' brain whirring with several reasons why three careless and somewhat clueless twelve-year-olds would confront him so seriously. Most of them involve blood, bowels, and detentions.

"Is there a problem?" he inquires detachedly, an unusual suspicion suggested in the crease of his left eyebrow and stiff back. Sirius is the first to answer.

"Yes. Yes, there is," he says factually.

"There is?" presses Remus.

"There is. A problem. A big problem," James confirms with a slight nod.

"A monumentally big problem," adds Peter, providing assurance.

"That's great. And what is this problem?" Remus asks flatly, but his back is stiffer and the crease is more severe, and he keeps pursing his lips nervously.

"You remind me of my dog," Sirius says.

A blank stare from Remus, an amused glance from James, and perplexed gaze from Peter prompt him to continue.

"Well, I mean, I don't have a dog, but if I did, you would remind me of it."

Sirius happily notes that Remus is beginning to look more comfortable with the conversation, as _obviously_ it has nothing to do with sharp teeth and pointy claws and ripping children to shreds. Sirius shudders a bit at the thought of his friend possibly eating him in his sleep, and dismisses his gory, sticky, sanguinary idea of what a full moon must look like, because he quite likes Remus, and he figures that he fancies Remus' advice and books and company more than he deplores the repulsion of his extremities being eaten by a giant, scratching, biting canine Remus.

"I know exactly what you mean," James agrees, "Dogs are… furry."

"Exactly. Remus, you are a very furry person," Sirius accedes.

"You're making him sound like a bloody coat, Sirius."

"Well, he can be a coat. But not a fur coat."

"No. Never a fur coat. I rather fancy the idea of a brown coat, though. It seems a sensible color, yes?"

"Very. Can't go wrong with a brown coat, I think. It's mature-like."

"My point exactly. Yes, Remus. So say you are a brown, sensible, mature coat," James suggests.

"I'm a coat," Remus repeats, somewhat dumbfounded.

"With green buttons, I think," Sirius supplies dreamily.

"Mm, what kind of green? Lime is a bit bold, but too dark would just be boring, and we can't make Remus boring, but lime would be simply too bright. Remus is subtle in his mischief," James says, studying the skinny, light-haired boy through slightly squinted eyes, despite the glasses that rested on his nose.

"Well, grass green is not so bright that it would attract Filch's attention, and it is not a boring color either, so that might work," Sirius exhorts.

"Slightly brighter than grass green. That will do it," James decides.

"But I thought he was furry, like a dog," Peter chimes.

"True, true. Yes, so Remus is furry. Not like a dog, though. He's just not dog-like," Sirius asserts, shaking his head slowly in thought.

"No, Remus doesn't have dog breath, so he can't possibly be a dog. He is a small furry animal, wearing a brown, sensible, mature coat, with slightly-brighter-than-grass-green buttons, and breath mints in his breast pocket," James delivers thoughtfully.

"Which pocket though? Left or right?" Sirius asks.

"Hm. I want to say left. The left pocket. Remus is right-handed, so it only seems fair that if he's right-handed, he's left-pocketed."

Sirius is sure that Remus is lost, and that he has no idea what they are talking about. Sirius knows that Remus has always known his friends were unique, but to provide an all-out confrontation to tell Remus that he resembled a creature that they might name something cute like "Snuggleface" was more than his werewolf friend ever expected.

As a matter of fact, he is sure that Remus is trying to remind himself why he worries at all about his dormitory mates learning of his whereabouts every full moon, and probably decides the attempt futile when Peter pipes up again.

"So that must be a rather tough left pocket, then. I mean, if he is left-pocketed, he might pocket everything and anything he must ever pocket in that poor left pocket," the small blond contemplates aloud.

"That's it! That's perfect, Peter!" James exclaims, and Remus pinches his nostrils together and shakes his head.

"So my coat has a tough pocket? Is it bound with steel or something?"

"Uh, _no_Hello? The point Peter and James are making is that the pocket is weak and falling apart," Sirius corrects him.

"Often," James adds as an afterthought.

"_Monthly,_" Sirius says conclusively.

"May I ask what was so pressing about this matter that you three felt you must pull me away from my rather endearing and _purposeful_ conversation with Miss Lily Evans?" Remus asks sternly, though the slight upturn of his mouth and the happy crinkle of his eyes betray his amused state.

"Other than the fact that no one cares about Evans. Well, except you. And James. And Slughorn. You just needed to know that we know that you are a small, furry animal in a sensible, mature brown coat, with slightly-brighter-than-grass-green buttons and breath mints in your left pocket," Sirius answers for him.

James continues, "And you really, really, love your breath mints. They are a wintery, peppermint type flavor. Unfortunately, your horribly weak left pocket has trouble with all the weight it must carry, because as a left-pocketed, small, furry animal you pocket everything that you must pocket in that lonely, weak, and worn pocket."

"So, unfortunately for a mint-loving fur-ball as yourself, the pocket falls apart on a monthly basis," Sirius explains.

"And everything in that pocket just spills, all over the floor. Your mints and other pocketed items are wasted. Think of it, your breath mints, gone, your pocket dictionary, splattered with mud, your pocket money scattered on the ground, and your pocket handkerchief dirty and useless. And we all know that you do not much like waste, so you become very, very angry. I mean, I think you would, anyway," James says thoughtfully.

"Angry enough to eat fingers," Sirius expands.

"And toes."

"And arms."

"And legs."

"And privates."

"And whole children," James finishes for the two.

Remus has been called many things, and none of them have ever been remotely related to stupidity, so by this time, Sirius is almost positive that Remus understands what his friends are hinting at, and Remus' face is caught somewhere between forced impassivity, relief, worry, and dying enjoyment.

"The coat also has a right pocket," Remus says in a quiet, hopeful voice, because, Sirius thinks, he is hoping that maybe, just maybe, his friends don't know.

"It does have a right pocket. A large right pocket. A right pocket that is perfectly good for pocketing pocket-sized things," James replies.

"It is a very reliable pocket. It _never _breaks, so your breath mints are safe, and your pocket dictionary is clean enough to be readable, your money is safely kept, and your handkerchief is marred only be tears and snot," Sirius affirms.

Peter says his rare piece, "So the right pocket pockets toughly?"

"Very. What color do you think-"

Remus cuts Sirius off before he can continue on that line of thought.

"So, would you flank me if I asked you if you knew of my condition?"

"Not at all. It was what we were trying to convey, after all," says James.

"And would you hit me repeatedly with a Hagrid-sized bludger if I were to guess that the three of you are my reliable, right pocket? Which I can count on?"

"Never," Sirius answers.

"We'd just tell you that you'll sound like a bloody female if you say anything about the strength of our friendship next, or get philosophical on us, but you do get the general idea," James says with a nod.

Remus chuckles slightly.

"I'm thinking purple. Purple for the right pocket?" Peter suggests.

"A sort of lavender shade, perhaps?"

"Ah, we'd make Dumbledore proud with that color choice…"

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